A Song of Sixpence
by Creeley
Summary: In which Alex Rider is dealing with the death of Jack and the loss of his childhood, Harry is toughing it out at the Dursleys after the disastrous events of third year, and two very lonely boys meet in a very unlikely friendship. (Because things sure would have been different for Harry if he'd had a streetwise muggle friend on his side.) Possible slash, but not Alex/Harry.


Alex Rider met Harry Potter purely by accident.

It was a heavy Thursday afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky, when Alex entered the convenience store on the corner, in search of skimmed milk.

A blast of cool air rushed over his face as he pushed through the door, and he grimaced at the chills that danced down his spine. The disparity between the warm mugginess outside and the wash of clinical crispness was jarring, and it only got colder as he made his way to the freezer section. His shoes stole away faint taps on the linoleum tile, buried beneath the sound of the soft Muzak that floated through the store.

He sighed quietly as he pulled open the refrigerator door and picked up a carton of milk, absentmindedly checking the date printed on the plastic. Another night of silence between himself and his dinner, it seemed. Since returning to Britain from the United States, Alex, with no energy left nowadays to fix anything more complicated than microwavable or boxed meals, had since been predominantly subsisting on cereal and fruit smoothies. It wasn't the healthiest, he could admit, but a sense of leaden weightiness had settled over his limbs, and the thought of putting effort into much of anything was repugnant to him.

As a child, he had started cooking his own meals when he was six- a necessity, because Ian often left him suddenly, with little to no warning, and only a stool for him to reach the higher cabinets. His culinary skills had grown quickly, and his six year old self probably wouldn't understand his current dilemma. But then, his six year old self would never have expected the violence and pain that was to come.

Because Alex was at an incredibly low point in his life, and he didn't know how to pull himself out of the bottomless pit he'd been shoved into. Jack was dead three months now, and yet the horrific explosion still burned his eyelids at night. He could still feel the straps around his wrists and the cold electrodes taped to his skin. The memories turned his motivation to ash, along with Jack's body. He'd moved to a new neighborhood, to get away from all of the old memories. He was set to start a new school when it started back up again. He'd bought a new house and he was living as an emancipated minor, alone and cold inside with no friends and no family.

So. Here he was. Shopping for milk at nine o'clock on a Thursday night.

Awesome.

It was as he was walking back to the checkout counter that he saw the boy.

He had jet black hair and was wearing a pair of huge, ratty jeans belted firmly around his thin waist. His shirt hung off of his torso like a sheet. He was also very short, something which was exhibited by the fact that he was on his toes, stretching to reach a jar of tomato sauce- however, the more he reached for it, the further his fingertips pushed it back.

Alex paused at the sight, observing for a brief moment the look of frustration on the boy's face, before finally deciding to walk over. He stopped a few feet from the boy and rocked back on his heels.

"Need some help?"

The boy startled and jerked around at Alex's voice, eyes widening as he took an automatic step back.

Alex raised his brow.

"What? Oh, um, uh, sorry," The shorter stuttered awkwardly, red rising to his cheeks. "I'd- I'd actually love some help, thanks." He sounded embarrassed.

Though he didn't have but three or four inches on the other, Alex reached up and retrieved the tomato sauce with little effort and placed it in the kid's basket, which was settled in an empty space on a shelf.

"Thanks," The kid repeated. "I, um, appreciate it."

Alex made himself smile. "No problem, mate. Have a nice night."

He was turning to leave when something caught his eye and he paused. He wavered for a split second, lips pressed thinly together. It wasn't his business, it wasn't his business at all… But…

"Are you… alright?"

The black haired teen followed Alex's line of sight to his hands. They were chapped and the knuckles were bruised, and angry red scratches sliced over his skin in tight red lines, crisscrossing all up his wrists. The cuts looked fresh. The kid flushed and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "I've been gardening."

"Without gloves?" Alex asked doubtfully.

He'd been trying. He'd really _really_ been trying to keep himself out of other people's affairs. So far it had been easy- he had no energy to talk to anyone, and, in fact, no one to actually talk to- he only left his house to go to the store and sometimes the library- so it wasn't particularly challenging. But God, those scratches were pretty deep, and what was a kid that looked not even Alex's age doing out shopping at nine o'clock at night on his own, anyway? The only houses close by were in Alex's neighborhood, and he was sure that he'd never seen this boy before. Especially not out gardening.

"I- I lost them," The kid said defensively. "I'm sure they'll turn up eventually." Now it was his turn to force a smile. "Anyway, thanks for the help, but I should get going." He hauled up his basket and clutched it against his chest like a barrier, lips drawn up tightly into a pained facsimile of well-being. His nervous energy reminded Alex of a kite on a brisk day, being tugged around by an insect sized boy on the ground.

Alex nodded slowly. "Sure. I'll… see you around."

"Yeah, s-see you." The kid hastened away without a backwards glance, leaving Alex to look after him, milk carton hanging loosely at his side.

Alex checked out and walked to his house, and by the time he got there and latched the door behind himself, the milk was warm, plastic slick in his hands. He set the carton on the almost bare bottom shelf of his refrigerator, and sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the backs of his hands in deep thought. A cool draft of air was bleeding into the kitchen, but Alex still had on his jacket, and it was getting easier to ignore the goosebumps that raced over his skin.

He sat there at the table, with the dull yellow glow from his dusty lights casting shadows over his face. He wasn't hungry and he didn't eat.

 **A/N: Well, here is this! Also, I'm on the search for a beta reader, so if anyone is interested, maybe PM me? ^.^**

 **I'd appreciate whatever constructive criticism anyone has to spare- I'm really interested in improving my writing some more!**

 **And if anyone has title ideas? That'd be great too, yo.**


End file.
